


The Big Stink

by dragonnan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Curses, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Humor, Monster of the Week, Season 7 Spoilers, Season/Series 07, Whump, hexes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2790029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonnan/pseuds/dragonnan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monsters, demons, rouge angels, the Devil, freaking Leviathans.  Whatever comes down the pipe, we can handle it.  Gank it or box it up for later.  This is no different.  Same crap, different day, man.</p>
<p>But, dude, for the record?  This freaking sucks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Blows

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: During season 7 – set between “Defending Your Life” and “Shut Up, Dr. Phil”

 

_**Wakeman, Ohio** _  
  


 

 

 

 

The sun was a hazy sort of gold – low in the sky and spreading out its glow over wide fields of ripening oats. A few crows stalked along the edge of the road – poking their beaks at something crushed and unfortunate that hadn't quite managed its trip across the pavement.

 

A black car was parked several yards from the tiny scene of animal carnage – doors open and occupants taking in the last of the day's warmth.

 

"Dude, did you step in goblin poo?"  Already curling his lip, Dean eyed his brother up and down before taking several large steps back.  
  
Sam, looking up from the sandwich he'd thoroughly been enjoying right until that very second, wrinkled his forehead.  Licking his tongue across his teeth to catch stray bits of cheese and turkey, he swallowed, leaned forward, and sniffed.  Then he shrugged and returned to his dinner.  "I don't smell anything."  
  
Still stepping backward, Dean stared at him.  
  
"You don't smell that!?  That... that... _**ick**_!?"  
  
Still chewing; now scrolling through articles on his laptop where it sat on one knee, Sam shook his head.  "Nope."  
  
Dean's lower lip flattened down and his eyes damn near crossed in an effort to physically hork the stink away from him. God, now it was in his mouth!

 

“Uuuuck, freaking HELL, Sam! You seriously can't smell that? Like a goddam rotting... old person diaper!” He nearly gagged before forcing down the reflex. He belched instead. More manly and admirable and less likely to draw jeers than if he rocked a chunkafall right there on the grass.

 

Sam, though, just tapped a few more keys before taking a dainty bite of his club. Dean hadn't been able to touch more than a third of his meatball sub before the stench had forced him out of the Impala. He'd blamed junior for the rank odor, at first. But on his best day, after a three bean hippie burrito, Sam wouldn't have managed that level of death bomb.

 

He fought with the impulse to drag his tongue over his sleeve, much as he'd done as a kid when he'd eaten something foul. Or like last week when Sam had talked him into trying some sorta rice cracker... queso... thing.

 

Sam wasn't hearing his complaints over the pretty birds and whatever was pumping through the buds he'd crammed into his ears. Whatever. If there was one thing Dean excelled at it was finding a freaking solution. Beer. Funny how often that turned out to be the perfect answer.

 

Kicking one long leg from the top of the cooler, ignoring the fumble and pissy “Hey!” since that leg had also been supporting Sam's laptop, Dean fished out a bottle from the ice. Pausing just a second, he hooked a second as well and crunched back across the gravel. Off the shoulder, past a three foot span of dusty yellowed grass, a wooden fence separated the road from an expanse of overgrown pastureland. Maybe a field for cows or horses at one point, now the only animals to be seen were crows.

 

Snuffling through the ever present retch, Dean twisted off the cap from the first bottle and gulped through the foam. Suds and carbonated hops flushed down his throat, a false promise of relief in the chilly beverage. A bright spot to his day, the moment lasted about three seconds. Long enough for the liquid to settle at the bottom of his stomach. Then, barely allowing him the time to lean away from his body, it all came back in a hurricane rush. So much for manly.

 

“Exactly how much did you drink last night?” Sam, still holding on to that pissy tone, leveled it up a notch with a magical blend of amusement and Gramma.

 

Dean held up a finger. Appropriate in that it indicated both the number as well as his thoughts on Sam's poorly timed attitude problem. Of course, he was open to the idea that one was all he could remember drinking. The night had that hazy, not quite sober quality on reflection. Though he did remember a bar, something about karaoke, and blonde. Okay, if blonde was part of the jumble he really wanted to get that memory back.

 

“Where were we last night?” He spit and washed out the remains with another swig of beer.

 

Like the massive purging hadn't been enough, it was the question that really raised Sam's eyebrows.

 

“You don't remember?”

 

Dean wiped his mouth and opened his second bottle.

 

“Of course I do, Angela Lansbury. But seeing as how we're on a game show and this one's for a million...”

 

“Surprised you even know who Angela Lansbury is...” Sam muttered.

 

“Shut up...” He flicked the cap from his beer, watching it sail in an arc towards a patch of tall grass. “Come on, just spill, alright? Quit giving me a freaking hassle.” His mouth tasted like ass and, leery as he was about puking again, he took a chance on tipping the long neck towards his lips. It seemed to wedge behind his Adam's apple but a hard swallow got it down. So far so good.

 

Guilting Sam had always been just a little too easy. Well, up until Pollyanna had flipped the happy switch back in Dearborn. It wasn't something Dean was proud of but it wasn't something he could do much about either. He didn't have much skill with eggshell walking but trying to treat everything like normal meant he spent a lot of time tripping over his tongue. The thing that was funny, though, was that after all this time, he still thought anything about their life _could_ be normal.

 

Sam sighed and stuffed the last three bites of sandwich in his mouth, cheeks going chipmunk as he chewed it down. A few gulps of beer and he moved his laptop to the car seat behind him.

 

“Okay. Do you remember the poltergeist we took care of just outside Lansing?”

 

Dean nodded and was about to take another sip when the bubble in his gag reflex made him reconsider.

 

“Well, about twenty miles out of town you said you wanted to get some gas money so we stopped at some ratty billiards hall. You remember that?”

 

“A little. I remember some guy spilling Yager on your lap.” He rubbed his nose against his sleeve, tempted to jack some of that potent crap Sam damn near bathed in whenever he was trying to pull off “Fed”. He'd welcome blowing out his sense of smell to escape this rot.

 

Sam glared. “Anyhow... you found a couple of suckers and started dropping cash for about an hour.”

 

Dean sucked his lip. He could remember hustling a few locals who were so impressed by their sudden lucky streak they'd offered to buy him rounds to make up for taking all his cash. He'd strung them along on about five hundred bucks, letting them buy more rounds that he didn't drink until they'd been nearly too tanked to see the table. He usually didn't think it was playing fair; taking money from loaded rubes. However, he was still nursing a few bruised ribs after the last job and didn't have it in him to risk a brawl. Leastways, not among the pissed off and sober.

 

He remembered pocketing about two grand, a hell of a take for a town that size, before heading back to the table Sam had been sulking at...

 

And then...

 

And then...

 

Huh...

 

Sam was still going, though, so Dean got the history that seemed to be missing from his gray matter.

 

“...talked to her for about an hour and then we left. And... that's it.”

 

Dean wrinkled his nose, and not just from the smell. “That's it?”

 

Sam nodded. “Yeah. We came back to the hotel, you passed out on the bed, and that was it.”

 

Committing the Cardinal sin of leaving his beer unfinished, Dean walked back to the car and leaned against the hood, soaking in the heat that had built up on the black surface. Another month and there'd be snow on the ground. Just about time for them to fly South with the rest of the loons. Well, in their case, mostly East.

 

“So... you're saying I chatted up some hot chick at the bar... and then just... left.”

 

Reaching back for his laptop again, Sam returned to his very important study of kittens with captions.

 

“They're called lolcats and no, I'm not looking at them.”

 

Dean snorted and slouched a little more as the warmth went to work on his muscles. “I can't believe you actually know what they're called.” And he was still bothered by this whole scenario. There were a lot of things that stank about this and the twist in his gut wasn't just from the smell.

 

“Was she underage?”

 

“What? Who?”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Blondie. She have a fake ID? Thirty going on thirteen?”

 

A shrug. “I don't know. I don't think so. If anything she looked older than you. And I know how you feel about older women.”

 

Even stench couldn't keep back the leer.

 

“Ahh... cougars, Sammy. They make the world go 'round.” That being said... why had he woken up still dressed in jeans and sneakers and sharing his bed with nothing more alluring than flowered pillow cases?

 

“Married?”

 

Sam sighed, hard, and closed the cover on his computer with a snap. “I don't know, Dean. Like I said, you talked her up, and then, suddenly you got up from your stool and told me it was time to go. We drove back to the hotel, I went to take a shower, and by the time I got out you were already sawing logs.”

 

“And you didn't think there was anything weird about that?” Dean scrubbed at his nose. Maybe they'd parked near a turkey farm...

 

Sam tilted his head. “Well... I think I heard you singing the theme to Shaft in your sleep...”

 

Dean sat up, horrified. Sam copied his eye roll from earlier.

 

“I'm kidding. You drooled on your pillow though.”

 

This wasn't getting him anywhere. Though the reminder that he had a fat wad of greenbacks tucked away in his personal bank, ie the Impala's trunk, made up just a hair for the loss of any action. Besides there were other towns, other ladies, other chances. And any one of them was bound to smell better than this place.

 

“You finished lollicatting? Great. Time to go.” Snapping Sam's laptop shut one handed, Dean lightly tossed the computer inside over the waspy sputtering. Clearing out first one nostril, then the other, Dean rolled his keychain on his finger as he slid in behind the wheel. Okay, so maybe improving his sense of smell wasn't his best life choice. Either way he planned on leaving this rank county in the dust. Then, first chance he got, he was stopping by a drug store to pick up some NyQuil for Sam. Cause no way in hell he wasn't picking up on that rot unless he had nose herpes.

 

 

)ooo)0(ooo(

 

 

He wasn't sleeping. Typically, he logged a good four hours, which was better than average compared to most of the guys in his trade. But that had been before. And before. And a lot before.

 

Alcohol; handy shut off valve, it usually gave his bed times a soupy sorta blank. If he had nightmares, they were the old and familiar. But lately... lately it seemed his chosen sleep aid was closer to sugar water. Any spirits the bottle contained seemed to flow right out of the glass and into his brain; all sorts of herpy-derpy haunting going on. Enough times waking up in damp linens with Sam giving him that tetchy constipated Gomer look.

 

He smacked his lips and flinched at the rotting elk flavor. Dear God, it was actually worse!

 

“Holy fucking shit.” He moaned before ripping free of the bed and high stepping across Sam's mattress, and Sam, on his way to the bathroom. Forget the brush, he snatched the Crest and creamed his mouth with a third of the tube.

 

While he was busy moving the thick paste around his teeth, Sam shuffled through the door and made for the toilet.

 

“Told you to lay off the bourbon last night.”

 

“Ish nah the ruh-run!” Dean spit the first mouthful as Sam flushed; grimacing at the tube in disgust.

 

“Dude, what the hell sorta shitpaste is this anyhow?”

 

Sam snatched the tube away and fished out his toothbrush. “Still got that funny taste?”

 

“What do you think?” Opening his mouth wide, Dean leaned in close to the mirror; hanging his tongue out while he tried to see the back of his throat.

 

Sam watched from the corner of his eye as he brushed – raising his eyebrows as Dean pulled his lips up from his teeth. While Sam rinsed and spit, Dean left the bathroom in search of something more astringent than mint.

 

The aforementioned bourbon bottle was crowded for space on the little table between their beds. Barely an inch left at the bottom, Dean polished it off and then nearly gagged at the corrosive taste explosion. “Oh, hell, no you did not...”

 

“I didn't what?” Sam wandered from the bathroom towards the half fridge. Nothing in there but yesterday's pizza, so pizza for breakfast it was.

 

“What did you put in here? This tastes like week old skunk piss!”

 

“You probably have a cold, Dean. Messes with your tastebuds sometimes. Look, we'll pick up some Sudafed this afternoon and you'll be fine.”

 

A little too relaxed about the whole thing, if Dean hadn't been there to see it happen he'd swear his brother's soul hadn't made it back into his body. Touchy subject, that one. Not that Dean made a habit of dodging touchy subjects unless it was _his_ touchy subjects. God that sounded dirty.

 

“Breakfast?”

 

He turned his head; tasting the fog of foul that turned right along with him. Sam was holding out a slice of cold Meat Lover's with extra bacon. Dean's throat bobbed in warning and he cut to the right without a word.

 

A second later, the delicate sound of gagging drifted from the open bathroom.

 

At the table, Sam winced. He felt bad for his brother. Theirs wasn't the type of job that typically had allowances for sick days and Dean had been known to gank a ghoul while battling a wicked case of food poisoning. Still, it was an added risk that neither one of them liked to deal with so the sooner Dean recovered, the better. They were supposed to meet up with Bobby in two days so if Dean wasn't over this thing by then, Sam would leave his brother with Bobby and go on ahead to Prosperity.

 

Chewing down the slice his brother had turned green at, Sam hit the news outlets on his laptop. Just a few minutes and, “Huh... Hey, Dean!”

 

Toilet flush and half a face peered from behind the doorframe. “What?”

 

Ignoring the sallow glare, Sam waved at him. “Check this out.” Also ignoring the eye roll, Sam slid over a few inches as his brother leaned in over the screen.

 

“Disappearances – ooo, getting dangerous on me here, Sammy.”

 

Doing his best not to respond to the expected sour pus, Sam pointed out a few extra details on the screen. “Not just disappearances. There've also been several seasons of bad harvests at the local farms as well as a few years of unusual weather patterns for the area, like heavy fogs, localized storms, and rain showers when the rest of the state is clear.”

 

Horking in his throat, Dean leaned over to spit in the trash can next to the table. “And, what, you thinking of going back there because of bad weather and cause a few locals split town? Cause I've just been in that town, Sam, and I don't blame them for finding greener pastures.”

 

Not that he'd expected Dean to be gung-ho about this. “It's just a few miles back. We can go poke around for a few nights and if we don't find anything we can leave again.”

 

Hands flung up, Dean headed back towards his bed. “Fine, whatever. But after this, I plan to cash in on some r and r.”

 

Sam closed up his computer and headed to his own bed to pack up his things. “Sounds fine with me.”

 

 

)ooo)0(ooo(

 

 

The town looked exactly the same as it had when they'd left it. Same road signs, same people walking the sidewalks, same hotel; hell, even the same room. Not like a paradise like this was drawing in the tourists or anything. Dean spent all of thirty seconds in the room – long enough to toss his bag on the bed before turning his heels and leaving Sam to grab a shower while he decided to grab a drink. May as well give another look at the one watering hole. Best place to get a bead on the locals – go where they congregate.

 

For a one horse town, Drew's Brews could pack them in. According to the Lolita who'd bent his ear earlier, they weren't renowned for their Cosmos. Not that it mattered – Dean was in more of a Jack and Coke, hold the Coke sorta mood.

 

Tapping two fingers on the bar, Dean poured down his first shot, desperate for the burn to flare across his tongue and nasal passages. But just like every variety of booze he'd tried before, the only thing it flared was his gag reflex. One fist across his lips, he hunched his shoulders until he fought down the embarrassing spill trying to slip past his teeth.

 

“Son, maybe next time just stick with the Coke.”

 

Dean tipped a tiny salute towards the crotchety bartender. He accepted the glass of water with as much grace as he could muster. Surprisingly small amount of grace. And those sorta thoughts would require something stronger than water.

 

Rather than the humiliation of begging from Tommy Lee Jones in an apron, Dean slid off his stool to make the rounds around the dark little pub. scraps of memory came back as he took in the sights. Like that mounted pig head over the men's room with the yellow foam baseball cap. Classy.

 

A cluster of older guys gathered around the two pool tables towards the back. Dean hung in the shadows in case any of them had lost a wad to him a few days previous. Most of the other patrons seemed invested in either drinking or picking at the greasy bar food. None of them were recognizable and none of them were the stand out blonde that would have caught Dean's eye.

 

Stomach still making unpleasant gurgles, he decided to call it a night. Maybe Sam had actually managed to get a toehold on his research by now.

 

Outside the bar, Dean shivered in the chill that seemed to sink right into his recently knit bones. He hitched up the collar of his jacket and shook the stiffness out of his right leg; eyes down towards his feet. Chin lifting up a few steps from the car, his squint narrowed.

 

“Hey, hands off!”

 

The twelve year old carrot top spun back away from the Impala's rear window – leaving a spit smear across the dark glass. Dean crossed his arms. “What the hell you doing out here anyhow – shouldn't you be at home?”

 

Lip curl a little too snarky for the chubby freckle faced little monster, the kid snorted back. “Screw you, dickweed! Thing is a piece of shit anyhow!” With that, he flipped the bird before darting into the night.

 

Dean gaped before settling his face into a scowl. “Little bitch...” He muttered under his breath. Walking to his car, he pulled up short, scowling deeper, before using his sleeve to wipe the smudge from his window.

 

Stalking around to the driver's side, he unlocked the door and dropped inside. He glanced up just as the first drop his the windshield.

 

Turning the key, his lingering scowl warped into full blown snarl as the only thing he heard was a series of deadened clicks.

 

“Oh, what the fuuu...”

 

Cranking it again, and again, and again... “Dammit!” He punched the wheel before dropping his forehead against the hard leather. A moment later, the seats vibrated with an overhead rumble, pulling Dean's attention up and out. And then the clouds ripped open, dumping Noah's flood in a downpour that wiped out all visibility beyond the Impala's windows.

 


	2. Chasing Tails

Dean wasn't much in the mood for speaking the next morning. While it wasn't a big town, he'd still had to walk a good twenty minutes in a white out downpour – getting turned around in the torrential rain before finally finding the hotel again. Of course, the second he got to his room door the rain had started letting up. Sam hadn't had to say anything when he'd stepped inside, puddling water on the carpet and growling. A, thankfully, hot shower and scalding cup of coffee later, he'd made his way back to the car. It had started on the first try.

 

“Witches. Some bitch with a broom up her ass laid a hex on me.”

 

Sam shrugged under his stiff suit. “Maybe? Or maybe...”

 

“Bad luck? Really? Since when do we have bad luck that doesn't have some fucking demon or an assclown angel trickster dickwater along for the fun?”

 

Sam didn't speak to that but there really wasn't time as they had already pulled up to a sidewalk that led to a neat little two story with blue shutters. The exited the car and made their way up the short walk. Sam knocked as Dean heaved up beside him – arms held loose and professional. Crisp, clean, FBI.

 

Or not; Dean turning away just as the door cracked; rucking out a phlegmy snork.

 

The woman, behind the door, eyed Dean for another moment before turing to Sam, wary. “Uhh... can I help you?”

 

Both men flipped open their not so Federal Ids – practiced, swift, and back in their pockets before fine details could be scrutinized.

 

Sam smeared on his lady charmer whilst Dean made due with a half smile grimace that was the best he could manage past the suffocating stench.

 

“Hello, are you Mrs. Hoffman?”

 

“Allie Hoffman, yes. And...?” She pushed damp blonde hair off her forehead; probably from a recent shower.

 

Sam held out his hand for a quick shake. “I'm Agent Anderson and this is Agent Stewart. Do you mind if we come inside for a few minutes? We'd like to ask you some questions about your husband's disappearance last month.”

 

Leery attitude aside, Allie stepped back to let the two men enter.

 

“Would either of you like a cup of coffee? Tea?”

 

Sam shook his head while Dean chewed on the urge to hit her up for a whisky shot. Not that any variety of alcohol was doing anything for him. Hadn't even worked up a decent buzz in days.

 

The two of them were gestured towards a floral love seat while Mrs. Hoffman sat on the far edge of a footstool; her hands clenched and tucked between her knees.

 

“I talked to the cops after he didn't come home in two days. Not like we're a big town so you'd think someone would'a seen something.” She shrugged and blinked dull brown eyes.

 

Sam lifted a notepad from his inside pocket while Dean shifted against firm springs. Love seat his numb ass. He'd sooner make out against a barbed wire fence. Not that Sam was faring better the way he kept hitching forward and back.

 

Hard throat clear got the ball rolling. “Now, when you spoke to the officers, three weeks ago, you said that your husband had told you he was going out to pick up cigarettes on the night he disappeared?”

 

A head bob was followed with a shrug as the woman fiddled with the ring on her finger. “Andy didn't smoke often. He, ah... he used to drink... quite a lot. I'd begged him to quit for years. Took nearly running over three kids, just off the school bus, before he admitted he had a problem. Smoking helped take the edge off when he got tempted. At least... that's what he said.” Mrs. Hoffman rubbed her palms across her knees.

 

“You didn't believe him?” Sam's pen tapped against his notebook. Dean side eyed his brother – getting an eye flick in return.

 

“Uh, sorry,” Dean stood; pulling the woman from her inward drift, “you mind if I use your bathroom?”

 

Her fingers wiped under one eye. “Oh, uh... yeah. Sure. Down the hall past the kitchen. Third door to the left.”

 

He nudged his way past the coffee table while Mrs. Hoffman began talking about her suspicions of good ole Andy's extra curriculars.

 

Shooting a look back towards the living room, Dean slid into the first bedroom he encountered. A few moments of poking identified it as a guest room – most of the dresser drawers empty but for what looked like extra sheets for the twin bed. Dropping to his belly, he clicked on a flashlight to poke at the underside of the bed. Just as clean as the top. No hex bags, sigils, or runes and a back and forth with the EMF showed fewer bars than the Bible belt. May as well move on to the rest of the house.

 

The master bedroom was on the opposite side of the hall and across from a small storage closet. The door was cracked enough to take in the edge of a large mattress covered in a heavy comforter. One final glance back, the sound of conversation reassuring, and Dean slid into the room.

 

Had a thing for pink; this chick. Pink flowers on the bedspread, pink curtains, pink horseshoe freaking wall hangings... he jerked his head in a hard shake. As with the other room, the first thing he dug into was the dresser. For most people they tended to be a combo clothing storage and junk drawer. Amazing things could found in those drawers – from kinky toys and skin mags to valuables – money and jewelry, photographs or, sometimes, just junk. This one was fairly vanilla; a flat box with some old letters, an old gold watch in a dusty blue box, and a string of yellowed pearls that were probably keepsakes from gramma.

 

The jewelry box on top of the dresser was just as unrevealing; as was the slim drawer on the bedside table.

 

Frustrated; knowing he only had a few minutes to go before even a blocked bowel wouldn't be convincing. Dean made for the closet. On one hand, the neatness made searching easier. Clothes pressed and hung in coordinated colors, shoes stacked in shoe boxes along the back wall, and clear storage tubs on a top shelf filled with various bedding. On the other, it also proved what he'd thought from jump. There was nothing to find.

 

Two more visits were on their list; wives whose husbands had mysteriously gone missing within the past year. As with the first home, Dean hadn't found any sign of supernatural activity. This whole thing was starting to look like a bust.

 

The walk back to the car was all of the time needed for Sam to sum up those same conclusions.

 

“Other than a couple of them thinking their husbands had been stepping out, I didn't get anything useful. No weird noises or sightings, no unexplainable cold spots; hell, not even any flickering lights. Nothing.”

 

“Yeah, but were we thinking a spirit or something else?”

 

The sky was clouding up again. Dean flicked attention upward and picked up speed to the car as a few drops struck the back of his hand. Dragging out his keys, he breathed out and coughed – pulling back his lips and hoping he didn't puke. While digging for clues, he'd at least been able to push his misery to a far corner. But, being back on the first square, the acrid shit wretch was blooming back to the forefront. Grabbing the roof of the car, he gagged and spit; long saliva dripping from his lower lip. Sam stood on the other side of the car and Dean could just feel the bitchface sliding his way.

 

“I'm fine,” he shot back; wiping his mouth.

 

Sam nodded. “Sure.”

 

Both of them got in; Dean reaching up to crank the engine, only to stop; letting his hand drop back to his lap.

 

“What? Come on, Sammy, spit it out.”

 

Sam pressed his lips tight and shuffled his long arms.

 

“Look, I think we need to call Bobby.”

 

Eye roll and head shake followed. “Why? You said yourself – all we got are a few possibly cheating husbands. Far as I'm concerned, they're better off. We skunked out. It happens.”

 

“That isn't what you said this morning when you were going on about a witch's curse.” Sam propped his elbow on the edge of the window frame and tapped his fingertips along the upper seam – eyes going out towards the silent neighborhood.

 

“Yeah, well, obviously I was wrong. Besides, weren't you the one that was chalking it all up to bad luck? The hell you hear that made you change _your_ mind?” Putting the car in gear, Dean pulled out onto the street as patters of rain scattered across the windshield. Every house they passed had mowed lawns and cultivated flower gardens filled with Fall blossoms. None of the sidewalks were cracked and all of the streets had black tar with crisp painted lines. One had to wonder where the municipality got the money for that level of upkeep. But, then, maybe the small size of the place also meant that they didn't need to siphon funds to larger projects. Not like they were big on government buildings – they didn't even have a local police department. The closest thing to the law that Dean had noticed was a night watchmen. Rubbing his knuckles over his lips, he felt another swell of acid invade his throat. Coughing, he leaned right to snag an old napkin from the floor and hacked into the grease stained paper – spitting something thick from his throat. The phlegm brought with it another surge of rancid flavor and he almost pulled over – just managing to beat back the reflex to gag.

 

“And you wanna know why it is that I think we should call Bobby?”

 

Rolling down the window to pitch the napkin, Dean caught a pelting of rain on the side of his face before he could get it shut again. “To, what, ask if he's heard of curses involving bad breath? Come on. At best he'll just tell me it's what I get for overdoing it on Tequila shots.”

 

“He also might be able to give us some direction on this thing. I don't know about you, but I'm not in the mood to spend the next few days chasing our tails. And whatever you seem to think, Dean, I just feel it in my gut that something is going on here.”

 

Rolling his tongue across his teeth, Dean breathed out a puff of corpse flavored breath. “Well, just remember; this so-called case was your idea. For all we know, our own tails are the only thing there _is_ to chase.”

 

)ooo)0(ooo(

 

“ _Huldra.”_

 

“Huldra?” Sam angled up one brow while Dean, slouched on his bed, twisted his lips downward in a frown.

 

“What the hell is a huldra?”

 

Bobby, huffing out a lack of amusement, answered both boys. _“Basically Anna Nicole Smith with some kinda animal tail; like a fox or cow.”_ Sam thumbed the speaker and laid the phone flat on the table. Sliding from the bed, Dean straddled the other chair across from his brother.

 

“I don't remember Dad mentioning them in his journal.”

 

Paper rustled with a staticky crinkle on the other end of the call. _Well there's some debate regarding their true name. Some sources link them to the Fey,”_ Dean groaned, _“They've also been referred to as skogsrå, Tallemaja, and Ulda. However, whatever you call em', all of the lore agrees that these things are trouble.”_

 

Dean ran a hand across his lips. “Okay, but what does this have to do with... you know.” He spun one finger in a circle around his mouth; though Bobby couldn't see it.

 

“ _The female huldra are described as irresistibly beautiful, young, and blonde. Ring any bells?”_

 

Dean snapped his finger – pointing at Sam. “The blonde chick I met at the bar!”

 

Sam grimaced while Bobby went on, _“Nailed it in one. Apparently they make a habit of seducing men with the intention of dragging them off to their caves where they seduce em'; and then suck the life out of em'. However, these things are easily offended. Piss em' off and they'll either lay a curse on you or beat you to death.”_

 

Dean mouthed his teeth. “So this is me getting off easy?”

 

“ _Considering most of the victims they don't, flat out, kill have either been mutilated or driven insane? Yeah, I'd say so.”_

 

Sam tossed his brother a package of gum; instantly getting a glowering stare back for his trouble.

 

“Chiclets? Really?”

 

Shaking his head, Sam grabbed his phone and nudged off the speaker. “Alright, Bobby, thanks.”

 

“ _I'll send you everything I got on these things. You boys just take care of yourselves.”_

 

Tossing his cell back to the table, Sam rubbed both hands over his face. “Okay, so, let's go over what we can remember about your blonde.”

 

Knocking back the container of mini gums, Dean filled his cheeks with the tiny, minty, squares. “Like, what, if she had a tail?” Voice muffled with chewy candy, he shifted the wad to one cheek. “I can barely remember meeting her at all but I'm pretty sure that would have stood out.”

 

A few minutes later, Sam's email popped up a new message from Bobby. He gave the details a scan.

 

“That say anything about how we can kill those things?”

 

Sam chewed the inside of his cheek. “Uh... let's see...” He scrolled down further – past the various descriptives and legends. “Well, like other fey, they're vulnerable to both salt and iron.”

 

Dean tapped the table with his knuckles – drumming out a beat. “Yeah, but will that kill em'?”

 

“Maybe?” He read a few more lines; then sat up. “Okay, here it is. According to legend, the only thing fatal to huldra is...” one brow lifted, “Odin's spear.”

 

Hands flattening on the table, Dean sat up as well. “Odin's spear? Oh, that's all?”

 

“The spear is... was... named Gungnir. It was carved from wood taken from Yggdrasill, the 'world tree' – which is said to connect the nine realms.”

 

“Yag draysel; got it, and? Wait, you said _was_??”

 

Sam scrubbed his forehead and sighed. “Apparently the spear was destroyed – broken into two pieces which were taken back to Asgard.”

 

“Perfect.” Pushing off from the table, Dean leaned over the trash can, beside the lamp, to spit out his gum wad. Afterward, he hooked his fingers around the duffle and dropped on the mattress; unzipping the bag halfway to dig inside.

 

Abandoning the laptop, Sam took the bed across from him, one long leg tucked under the other. “So... what's your plan?”

 

Weapon after weapon were lifted free and lined up on the bed; a couple machetes, several iron rebar that had been sharpened on one end, two shotguns, and a .45.

 

“What else? We hit em' with everything we got.”

 

Sam almost expected his brother to engage a shell into one of the shotguns after that action hero line. Instead, Dean pulled a face, stumbled from the bed, and ran gagging to the bathroom – the sound of wet vomiting in his wake.

 

Lips pressed tight and nose wrinkling, Sam half stood before dropping back down – hands rubbing across his knees. Okay, so this was actually getting worrisome. He hadn't seen Dean eat anything, other than gum, in the past two days. Hard to imagine he had anything left to throw up other than his stomach.

 

“Give me the rest of what Bobby sent you about those... uh... hulders.” Carrying past the bathroom door over the sound of the flushing toilet – Dean's voice had the quality of leather dragged across crumbled glass. He didn't return to the main room.

 

“Huldra; and hang on a sec.” Moving back to the computer, Sam brought up the email Bobby had sent. Along with the text were several fantasy illustrations of buxom women with animal tails – mostly in seductive poses with young men enthralled in their presence.

 

“Okay... so according to the description, they are always blonde and beautiful with an irresistible allure for the men who cross their path. In some of the lore, they are described as having the tail of either a fox or a cow – yadda, yadda, yadda, and always have a crown of flowers.”

 

Dean grunted something unintelligible that Sam chose to pass over as he continued.

 

“There are several mentions of huldra taking husbands; that by doing so, they lose their tails and otherworldly beauty, but remain faithful for the rest of their lives. However, they are extremely jealous and will not tolerate a husband who strays. If they discover their husband is unfaithful, they will...” Sam squinted at the small text, “use their unnatural strength to bend a horseshoe straight in a display of intimidation. Weird...”

 

Shoes squeaked against the bathroom tile and, a moment later, a flush faced Dean lurched back into the room.

 

“Hold on... what was that last part again?”

 

Sam frowned at his brother but repeated himself. “Basically, if their husband cheats on them, they'll remind him who's boss by... bending a horseshoe straight.”

 

Dean's eyes widened as he stared into the distance; a look Sam recognized as pieces falling into place.

 

“Son of a bitch!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for how long it takes to update. I have SO many things going on and it is incredibly hard to handle everything I'm juggling. I can only promise to do my best and I'm really thankful to all of my readers! I hope you've enjoyed this recent chapter!


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